


Take From Me My Lace

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Date Night, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Intercrural Sex, Lace, Lace Panties, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quick and Dirty, Smut, lock in love in, lockdown cockdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23382586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Eggsy dresses up for date night and... well, it'd be rude to undress him since he's gone to so much effort.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 22
Kudos: 172





	Take From Me My Lace

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quickie!
> 
> Thank you Otherwiseestella for the title and Pax, Addie and Star for the support as always! If you badger the artists, I reckon one of them might render the pants for us...

Take From Me My Lace.

They’re barely in the door from dinner and Harry’s got Eggsy pressed against the wall, kissing into his open mouth and pushing his jacket back to get his hands on Eggsy’s belt where his shirt’s tucked in. 

“We really must work on your tells, darling. You’ve got a lovely fidget. What have you got under here for me, hmmm?”

Eggsy laughs, bang to rights. 

“Wondered why you didn’t want no pudding.”

Somehow they always end up rushing dinner on date night. They’d be better off staying in, eating omelettes on the sofa if the goal is to get to bed as early as possible, which it seems to be, but it’s the principle of the thing. Harry  _ likes  _ the whole charade of dressing up to step out, and Eggsy’s smart enough to figure that would extend to the more creative interpretations of  _ dressing up.  _ It's been obvious he's hiding something he's smug about all the way through dinner and honestly, Harry's done well to make it this far.

On top he’s got a nice mid grey shirt and a dark tie… which was Harry’s first clue that there was some significant undressing to do, because Eggsy still forgoes the tie on a night out unless he’s got a good reason to wear one. But either he thought it would be an additional waypoint, or he knew Harry would leave it on and done up and start undressing him from the waist. 

As soon as his belt and fly are open it’s obvious he’s got lacy knickers on. Harry might have hoped it was something like that but the brush of rough embroidery on his cuticles as Harry pushes Eggsy’s trousers down is still a thrill. 

Whatever Eggsy’s got on sits high on the hips, an arc that scallops across the top curve of his thigh rather than the French cut Harry’s seen him in before, and… are there any lose scenarios, here? Black lace on Eggsy’s skin is a contrast to be savoured in any form. But w hat occurs to Harry suddenly, as Eggsy grins into his mouth on a hot breath, lips between teeth, is that he has not yet found the top of this arrangement. He pulls at the leaves of Eggsy’s shirt to pop the buttons, expecting lace teasing the delicious slope under his navel… but it keeps going, button after button that Harry undoes with urgent, fumbling hands and his mouth drying out. 

Beautiful, flimsy black lace, all the way up the hard planes of Eggsy’s abs. Hugging in to the dip of his waist, high enough to cut off in a lip that scoops his ribs… Harry finally finds the top band, so far up it's not even Eggsy's belly but his chest. The split of his shirt reveals a triangle of bare sternum Harry doesn’t even attempt resisting putting his mouth to, covering with wet kisses and rough bites until Eggsy’s hips push off the wall.

They find their way to the bedroom. Harry suspects he may be pushed some of the way, but he also knows he’s got a hand twined in Eggsy’s tie, drawing him along in a manner he doubts he’s had the balls to try in years, but arousal like this will do things to a man. He can feel the brutal heat of Eggsy’s skin right through the lace where one hand refuses to leave the divot of his waist, and before they get to tumbling into bed Harry manages to find the rest of his way through tie, shirt, Eggsy’s trousers presumably somewhere on the staircase because he’s standing there, barefoot and bare chest, naked entirely except for the half-body, the knickers-almost-corset of black filigree caressing him from balls to mid chest, and of course he wears it with that dozy, cocky half smile. 

“Well then? What do you think?”

The only response Harry can give him is a long groan through his nose.

“That ain’t an answer.” 

Well, is it ever? 

Speechless Harry shows him, instead, with kisses. With a hand in Eggsy’s hair to bring his head back so that he can get at the sensitive skin of his throat and shower it with sensation, working his way down to Eggsy’s collarbones so that he can suck along them and feel the deep rumble of pleasure right up from his chest. Harry's fingertips brush Eggsy's nipples and drag down - not so far down - to the high waist but skip down so that he can work out how Eggsy's got himself tucked in there, how quickly the bulge of his growing erection is going to ruin some of that lovely panneling.

“Oi don’t get too excited, you ain’t even seen the back yet.”

The…

The back.

The back turns out to be laced like a corset properly, cinched in at the waist with flat ribbon, the two sides it laces splitting apart to reveal the dip of the small of the back and to bare the cleavage-like crack of Eggsy’s arse, criss crossed with the lacing all the way down until it closes right at the base of his body, where Harry can feel the heavy heat of his balls when he pushes his hand between Eggsy’s legs. 

“Look at your lovely little waist.” ... And the delicate floral curls of the fabric that decorates it; the teases at flesh in between.

“And my great big arse, you mean.” That, too, and the rippling breadth of his shoulders, wide and sturdy and flecked with kiss-here moles, so gorgeously at odds with the dainty, feminine lingerie gathered around his waist and caressing the curve of his backside.

"You know what lacing does to me."

"Yeah… but tell me?"

“There’s something about this…” Harry trails his fingertip from the beginning of the ribbon in the middle of Eggsy’s back, right to left to right and back, all the way down until he feels him shudder, until his finger has brushed across the swell of his arse cheeks and traversed the crack between. “...that makes me feel unworthy, like I mustn't touch.” Harry shrugs his jacket off, unfastens his own trousers so that Eggsy can feel his arousal when he presses right up against his back, lips against the shell of his ear. “Which just makes me want to make a mess of you.”

Eggsy murmurs happily and grinds back against Harry’s body, gently maneuvering so that he can put his hands on the dressing table. Harry puts his hands fully round Eggsy’s waist and allows them to drop over his hips, down until his palms are tingling with the rasp of the fabric. 

“What if I said…” Eggsy pauses to mock gasp, to wait until Harry’s having a good old feel of his hard cock through the fabric. “You ain’t allowed to take them off.”

“What a hardship.”

“...until you’ve come.”

“Oh, a challenge.”

“Until  _ I’ve  _ come.”

“Does it matter which order?”

Harry’s fairly sure Eggsy doesn’t care, at this point: it’s a gorgeous thing, how weak he is for being kissed behind the ears, bitten on the back of the neck. He gets his fingers into the high, high waist of the gorgeous gorgeous underwear and starts to work - 

“Errr, did I say you could pull them down?”

“Well. You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

But that’s clearly the intent, and on a re-evaluation… heat fires right up his back, god, the remaining logical option should’ve been the first to ring itself clear in Harry’s mind. He doesn't know how he was considering doing anything else.

He grabs the lube from the dresser, flips the cap and uses his free hand to channel the flow from the bottle between the lacings and straight into the divot of Eggsy’s arse. It’s a shock, somehow, and the noise he makes is something like _“augh!!- ooh-"_ because no, cold lubricant down the arse crack is not his favourite physical sensation but the act he knows is coming, strangely, is one he loves. 

Harry pushes on Eggsy’s arse until he’s at the right angle and Harry can feed his hard cock beneath the lines of ribbon and tuck it snug between Eggsy's cheeks.

It’s the simplicity, apparently; he finds it incredibly flattering that something so simple never fails to get Harry off - and quickly, at that. It’s next to no effort for Eggsy to keep still long enough to let it happen, to feel the excitement flow right through in every tight, desperate movement of Harry’s body, the way he drives himself into the delectably tight fat slippery crease of Eggsy’s backside. Don’t say fat to him, for heavens sake, there’s not an ounce spare on him but honestly how else is Harry meant to describe how thick and full the muscle of Eggsy’s arse is in his hands, how nicely it gives in his gripping fingers? 

Harry fights his shirt off his shoulders in an eager, blissful sweat. There's no call for finesse or refinement, no call for anything other than c hasing climax as quick as possible; no concern about how  Eggsy feels because he has it on food authority that the quicker he gets there the more p leased with himself Eggsy will be, the more he will understand the truth in Harry’s praise and the quicker he will get to enjoy Harry’s uninterrupted attention. In truth, it’s less like sex than the world’s most decadent way to masturbate, and _oh fuck_ he gets this whenever he wants; this perfectly delicious body comes part and parcel with a man who loves this, who’s honoured if anything by this debasement, laughing softly - delightedly - at Harry’s desperation, gripping him gently on the thigh to spur him on because he wants to feel that he’s won, that his effort has been appreciated. 

Harry wraps Eggsy’s whole torso in a both armed grip like a bear hug from behind, to pull him down and hold him still for those all important seconds when he needs exactly the right pressure, exactly the right pace, the right focus.  No sooner has he looked down than he’s got to close his eyes again or else look up to the heavens, to whatever beautiful perverse deity has graced him with this because there’s Eggsys gorgeous arse and then there’s Eggsys gorgeous arse strapped up in ribbons and lace. Decorated and held pert but otherwise unimpeded, nothing but flimsy strips of nylon to stop Harry driving himself into that cleft, the slight chafe of the edge of the ribbon on the very root of his prick adding a delicious top note and he just rides it, lets it take him right up uninterrupted to a burning, soaring sort of orgasm that makes his face prickle with heat and his knees loose with bliss.

Of course, then, after the kind laughter, the known bargain: that he now gets Eggsy off. But Eggsy will be on a hair trigger from getting to feel quite how badly, how basely Harry wants him, and sometimes life’s just too easy? Then, Harry supposes, he has done rather more than his share for the world on the whole, and perhaps the karmic payback is that he gets sexual access to an inhumanly stunning creature whose appetites tally so well with his own that it never feels like an effort.

Harry holds Eggsy right where he is, where he can feel the very drip and twitch of Harry’s cock still pressed against him whilst he rubs his hands down over the front of the lace and finds it so soaked that for a moment he thinks Eggsy’s beat him to it. But he’s too hard to have come already; he’s just that excited, and the stroke of Harry’s thumb down and up the underneath of his cock has him pulsing, groaning.

It’s not the time to try anything fancy. Harry presses up tight against Eggsy’s back, keeps kissing the sides of his neck, the tops of his shoulders whilst he rubs firmly against that hardness with the heel of his hand. Not too hard or fast that he’ll chafe him on the wet lace; just firm enough to let him choose his own pressure and rhythm, and just keeps that hold and the loving wet attention on Eggsy’s throat and ears whilst Eggsy humps himself to climax against Harry’s palm. 

The the first Harry knows of it is a sharp gasp, a shuddering groan and the way Eggsy hisses his breath out as he throbs into the lace and the wetness takes a second to leak through to Harry’s hand.

Harry takes a moment to appreciate the texture of the material against his palm, dripping heavy now, hot and sodden. 

That’ll wash out. 

The waist is the true casualty. When he disentangles himself Harry sees that despite what felt like restraint at the time he's pulled the elastic slack, the top band stretched beyond snapping back into place and as much as he hates to think it, the lingerie may have had its one and only day.

Whilst Eggsy gets his breath back, Harry tucks his index finger into the ribbons and pulls them free, loosening the lacing until he can drag the whole arrangement down over Eggsy’s hips to fall into a heavy, sorry heap on the carpet.

His thanks is a hot, sucking kiss right against the bit of Eggsy’s shoulder where he’s already worried bruises.

"I don't think I actually took the time to tell you quite how stunning that looked?"

Eggsy's post orgasmic grin is also a thing of true beauty. 

"I think I got the idea." 

“I’ll replace them, of course. Am I forseeing a trip to Agent Provocateur in our near future?” 

In a remarkable - yet not at all, really - display of coordination, Eggsy hooks the knickers on his toe and kicks them into the bin under the dresser before stumbling for the bed.

“Nah, I got ‘em off Wish.” He yawns, and drags himself up the bed in a manner so lazily decadent Harry just wants to climb on top of him and really, nobody has the energy for all that. “I don’t spend more than a tenner on pants cos you’ve got the self control of JB with a throw pillow. Gentleman my arse.”

Harry flops down next to him, and grabs a handful of kleenex to deal with what hasn’t come off on the knickers or the duvet and honestly, sometimes he wishes those who mock him for his fastidiousness could see quite the extent to which Harry Hart does not give a fuck after a good shag.

He pops the light off and finds Eggsy’s body under the covers, thick and warm, as his mouth finds his jaw. It’s a uniqueness, he thinks, this post-bliss-blissfulness, the way the high takes so long to abate with him that Harry so often finds himself sucked straight back into the sort of behaviour neither of them really have the wherewithal to entertain.

“Your arse is rather the problem, darling. I defy anybody to be gentlemanly with this presented to them wrapped up in lace and ribbons.” 

"Well, it ain't a problem you're going to be having for a while." 

Harry startles, for a moment, hard in the throat in case he's missed his cue, committed some heinous faux-pas with this wonderful fantasy he's been gifted - 

"Gotta wait six weeks for delivery for another pair."

Harry's pulse thuds back to something like the rhythm it was still rediscovering after all the excitement. He presses a dizzy, thankful goodnight kiss to Eggsy's mouth.

He might just about have recovered in six weeks. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, please drop me a comment and let me know!  
> Now more than ever, I invite you to come be friends! Find me on [twitter ](https://www.twitter.com/agentsnakebite) and [ tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/randomactsofviolence).


End file.
